


so here we go again

by the_other_lutece_sister



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Smut, divorced parents au, propunk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-12-18 13:43:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11875740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_lutece_sister/pseuds/the_other_lutece_sister
Summary: Sarah and Rachel are bitter ex-wives who co-parent Kira. Sometimes they bang. How did they come to be married in the first place? WHO KNOWS. NOT ME.





	1. Chapter 1

Sarah rolled over, pushed the hair out of her face and looked at the alarm clock. Only 7.23am. And it was Sunday. She groaned and pulled the covers back over her face, stretching her arm out to pull a warm body close to hers.

The sheets were cold on the other side of the bed. Sarah remembered that she didn’t actually share the bed with anyone, not anymore, not since it had all gone to shite.

And she didn’t miss the warmth. Not one bit.

And Kira was staying at _hers_ this weekend _,_ otherwise she’d been in here jumping on the bed and trying to drag her mum out from under the covers already.

 

Sarah swore, punched a pillow, and got up anyway.

 

                                                                                                                         ⚮  ⚮  ⚮

 

Rachel’s sleek black town car dropped Kira off at 5pm sharp, the girl bouncing up the front path with a bag slightly fuller than when she’d left. Sarah scowled behind the curtain as she watched her, refusing to admit to herself that she was hoping for a glimpse of her ex in the car. She probably wasn’t even in the damn car.

Kira always came back with some little and stupidly expensive thing, just because Rachel could buy it for her...and because she knew it would make Sarah furious - especially as she couldn’t do anything about it. She raked her hair back with her fingers and dragged her face into a grin as she opened the door, crouching to sweep Kira up in a hug.

She’d told herself not to needle her about whatever Rachel had given her, or where she had taken her on the weekend. No references to the wicked stepmother. By the end of the night, her tongue was sore from biting it.

When she’d put Kira to bed, she headed back down to the kitchen and stood for a moment, tossing up between a cup of tea, and a glass of bourbon. Her gaze fell on the school letter stuck on the fridge door. She groaned and pulled the bourbon out of the cupboard.

Bloody parent-teacher night, bloody hell. Why both her _and_ Rachel needed to attend, she had no idea, but those generous donations from DYAD to the school’s science department probably had something to do with it.

 

 _Manipulative bitch,_ thought Sarah, and poured herself another drink.

 

                                                                                                                          ⚮   ⚮   ⚮

 

Friday rolled around all too fast. Sarah had picked up Kira from school and dropped her off at Alisons for a sleepover with Gemma and Oscar. Now she was standing in a pile of black t-shirts and jeans, trying to look like a respectable parent, but one who didn’t give a shit if she looked respectable or not…

On some level, she knew she wanted to look good because Rachel would be there, giving her the once over, and somehow smirking without moving a muscle on her beautiful mannequin face. Sarah’s grip tightened and a finger poked a hole through the sweater she was holding, and she groaned and dropped it on the pile.

 _Screw her_ , she thought, and grabbed the cleanest top, pulling it on over her bra (new, lace, no reason whatsoever for wearing it tonight,) and skinny jeans, laced up her boots and set off, fists tight in the pockets of her leather jacket.

The school was a short walk away - even then, her hair was all over the shop by the time she got there. She was standing just outside the doors, combing her hair with her fingers, when the all too familiar black car pulled up outside the gate.

_Oh, bloody hell._

Sarah jerked her fingers away from her hair, catching a knot and yanking on her scalp. She swore, pulled her hand free, then grabbed the door handle and pulled. It didn’t move, so she swore again, kicked the door and pulled again, every instinct telling her to _run_ as the door rattled and refused to give.

_click-click-click_

The sound of high heels on cement grew louder behind her, then stopped. Sarah gave up on the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment, then steeling herself and turning around. Rachel looked beautiful, of course, all sleek blonde hair and red lipstick wrapped up in an luxe ivory coat, but worse - she looked amused. Maybe not to the casual observer, but Sarah knew her, and that tiny curve at the side of her mouth said that Rachel Duncan was delighted to catch Sarah in such an undignified position.

She’d always loved Sarah in undignified positions.  

 

“Uh, Rachel,” Sarah nodded in greeting, avoiding her eyes.

 

“Hello, Sarah,” the voice was as clipped as ever, and surprisingly unhostile. “Allow me.” She reached past, turned the handle, and _pushed_ the door open, allowing Sarah to enter before her.      

 

 _Bloody idiot_ she said to herself and slunk through the doorway, unavoidably brushing against the sleeve of Rachel’s coat, that familiar scent of sandalwood wafting past.    

The door slammed shut behind her, and the sound of heels now clicked on the hardwood floor. It sent a shiver down her spine, all the way down to her...she cleared her throat, balling her hands up in her pockets again.

 

“What are you even doin’ here?” she blurted out as she stopped dead. Her voice echoed in the empty hallway, and she lowered it to a hiss. “You’re not her mum, you don’t have to do any of this anymore!”

 

Rachel looked back at her steadily, an eyebrow raising by a mere fraction.

 

“I’m here because I care about Kira’s welfare and education, Sarah.” The eyebrow raised the tiniest bit more as Sarah snorted. “It will benefit her to have at least _one_ parental figure who finished high school to help her along her academic path.”

 

Sarah felt like she’d been slapped.

“Oh, screw you, Rachel,” she snapped, spun around, and stormed off down the hallway, turning left. She realised too late that she’d turned the wrong way, and instead of stomping back in the right direction, she just kept going until she was around the next corner. She leaned back against the wall and stared at the mess of posters opposite - school band auditions, chess club, coding classes - listening to the sound of high heels clicking away into the distance.

Just because she didn’t have a stupid diploma or string of letters after her name didn’t mean she couldn’t help Kira, right? And plus, Kira actually _liked_ school. She must have gotten _that_ from her dad.

Sarah sighed, and pushed herself away from the wall. Now she was gonna walk in late and the teachers would look at her, and then at perfect Rachel in her perfect clothes and perfect hair and that perfect face and...she was remembering Rachel’s perfect skin and the way it looked in the dawn light before she caught herself and had to dig her nails into her palms.

_dammit._

 

By the time she made it around to the right room, and slipped in the door without attracting too much attention, Rachel was already deep in conversation with a woman who Sarah assumed was Kira’s french teacher, Madame le Rue. She looked absolutely enchanted by the blonde in front of her, no doubt in part to Rachel’s ability to speak flawless (naturally) French, and the aura of wealth and class she oozed from every pore. Sarah hung back and watched her for a moment - the conversation made no sense to her but Rachel being charming was always a sight to behold. Her eyes traced the legs that emerged from the white fitted skirt to the matching stilettos, every angle elegantly pointed.

She clearly had the teacher wrapped around her finger, not that it was needed, really, Kira had been doing very well in French. And of course, Rachel had helped to tutor her, and now she was ahead of the rest of the class. Sarah rolled her eyes. Bloody Rachel and her bloody _standards_ that everyone else had to reach.

.

She jumped as a voice behind her said,

“Ms Manning?”

She turned to find a man in glasses and a slightly fuzzy cardigan. He held out a hand.

“Mr Mitchell, Kira’s homeroom teacher. And every other subject. Except French, of course,” he waved a hand in the direction of Madame le Rue, grinning. “But I see your wife already has her occupied.”

Sarah took the hand and shook it, letting her gaze run up and down the teacher, Felix’s description of ‘scrumptious’ popping into her mind. She couldn’t disagree. She smiled, made it rueful.

 

“Ex-wife, actually.” She glanced over at Rachel, who met her eye and managed to convey that she was terribly bored, but persevering nonetheless for the good of the child (how she managed to say all that with the lift of an eyebrow, Sarah didn’t know, but she understood it anyway.) She caught herself lifting the corner of her mouth in a ‘me too’ gesture before turning it into a scowl.

 

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Mr Mitchell looked surprised. “Kira hasn’t mentioned it at all. She certainly hasn’t had any trouble with her work or behaviour. It must be hard on her though…” he trailed off, clearly aware of treading a fine line between professional and personal. He cleared his throat. “Well...anyway, come and sit down, and we’ll catch you up on Kira. She’s such a pleasure to teach!”

 

Sarah nodded and followed him to the other side of the room, sitting and leaning back in the chair, almost putting her feet on the desk. Her fingers fidgeted around the chair arms. Schools made her - not nervous, exactly, but like she didn’t belong, like someone was going to burst in and point at her and have her thrown out. Just like she’d felt when she’d been a kid.

She could see Rachel from where she sat, and her refined appearance looked so out-of-place in this room of scrawled pencil drawings on the wall and strip lighting and lesson plans in coloured chalk, that Sarah wondered again why she was here. For Kira? Or to get under Sarah’s skin?

 

Mr Mitchell talked at length about Kira and how much she’d improved over the last year, and how bright she was and how empathetic towards the other children. Sarah listened and nodded and smiled. She knew Kira was smart and had the potential to go far in life - to do everything that her mum failed to. Her legs jittered as she sat and the leather of her jacket squeaked against the wood. She couldn’t wait to get out of here.

 

                                                                                                                         ⚮  ⚮  ⚮

 

She and Rachel both reached the classroom door at the same time, but this time Sarah opened it with no problems, and although tempted to let it swing shut behind her - and in Rachel’s face - she held it open and made a mocking bowing gesture. Rachel just swept through, the ivory folds of her coat swinging, and Sarah jammed her fists back in her pockets and walked up beside her.

 

“Kira’s doin’ well, then,” she said, grinning despite herself. She couldn’t be _that_ bad of a parent if her kid was doing so good, right? Right?

 

“Yes, she’s top of the class in French,” Rachel replied smugly, her heels tapping. “Maybe she should be taking a second language class. Mandarin would be rather -” She blinked as Sarah cut her off.

 

“Christ, Rachel, can’t you just let her be a kid sometimes? We don’t hafta _groom_ her for the corporate world.” Sarah pushed her hair back from her face. “Just because they did that to _you..._ ” Her mouth snapped shut, but not before a shadow of hurt crossed Rachel’s face.

The speck of satisfaction she felt was quickly swallowed by guilt.

 

“Shit...look,” she muttered, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Just...don’t wanna push her, yeah?” She dared another glance but now her ex’s face was a smooth glassy surface. _Shit_ , she thought, _here we go again_.

 

This was why everything fell apart, in the end. Rachel was a knife and Sarah was a fist, and they knew each other too well. Old wounds never heal when someone else keeps poking at them.

Rachel exhaled.

 

“Fine. No Mandarin.” She picked an invisible piece of lint off her coat sleeve. “Perhaps next year.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Sarah said vaguely. Her feet wanted to move faster, to get out of range, but something kept her lingering close to Rachel, letting the faint woody scent envelop her. She breathed in, and looked at the curve of her throat and the line of her jaw, and thought about how she didn’t miss it at all.

 

“I’m somewhat surprised you haven’t mentioned what Kira brought home last weekend,” Rachel sniffed, heels clicking slightly faster now. “I usually receive at least _one_ angry text.” Her lips curved. “Or were you saving it up for tonight?”

 

“Oh, bloody hell, Rachel,” she snapped, any lingering tenderness she had succumbed to crumbling instantly. “At least _pretend_ that you’re in this for Kira, and not just to get at _me_. She only stays with you because _she_ wants to, if we got lawyers involved…” Sarah shut her eyes for a second in instant regret. _shit shouldn’t have…_

 

“By all means, get _lawyers_ involved, Sarah.” Rachel smiled. “The best lawyers in the country are at my disposal. And with your -” Rachel looked her up and down, “ - record, who do you think would come out on top?”

 

Sarah stared at her, practically trembling with fury, and the lingering fear of losing Kira, the fear she’d carried since the day her daughter was born.

Rachel tilted her head to the left slightly, unblinking. Her lips parted, as if about to send out another barbed sentence and Sarah let her anger take over, and she closed the distance between them, smashing her mouth into Rachel’s and swallowing whatever she had been about to say.

 

The part of her that was standing back and shaking it’s head in disbelief heard a door open, and the voices of other parents down the hall, so she pushed and pulled and fumbled until the two of them fell through a doorway and into a dark classroom, Rachel holding onto her shoulders with her nails digging into the leather the entire time. Sarah kicked the door shut behind her and kept kissing, cradling Rachel’s face in her hands, thumbs edging down her throat.

Sharpness nipped at her bottom lip and she made a muffled sound and pushed Rachel backwards again, until the back of Rachel’s thighs met the desk, and Sarah was pushed up against her, hands slipping down from her face to the coat, desperately pulling at the belt and yanking at buttons until she could place her palms on Rachel’s waist, around her hips, pulling her even closer.

Rachel was pushing back, and Sarah could feel cool fingers against the hot skin of her back, fingernails scratching lightly. Then she was pushing up that tight white dress, just enough to slip a hand between Rachel’s thighs, and feel her grind down on it. Sarah grinned as she slid her mouth down to the collarbones and nipped around what skin she could reach.

A leg slid between hers. She moaned into Rachel’s neck as the leg pressed upwards, and the hands pressed her hips down, and now her fingers were inside Rachel’s knickers and Rachel’s breath was hot against her ear and Rachel was digging her nails into the soft skin of Sarah’s waist, and Rachel was coming around her fingers.

Sarah changed the angle of her stance slightly and ground down again, and it was just enough to get her over the edge, biting down into the smooth skin of Rachel’s shoulder to muffle the sounds in her throat.

 

After a moment of silence, Sarah untangled herself and stepped back, yanking her shirt straight and pushing her hair back. She couldn’t look Rachel in the face, knowing there’d be that mix of triumph and twisted affection that was always there after this happened.

 

“Fuck, we have to stop doing this,” she muttered.

Rachel made a _mmm_ sound, and other noises told Sarah she was checking her make-up, although how much she could see in the dim light from the windows was anyone’s guess. Then she stood, closing the compact with a sharp _click,_ wrapping her coat around her once more.

 

“Do give Kira my love,” she said, her voice betraying nothing of what she had been doing five minutes ago. She walked over to the door. “Until next time, Sarah.” The door opened and closed, softly, and Sarah finally looked up, craning her neck to stare at the ceiling and wonder for the millionth time what the hell she was doing. She sighed and pulled out her phone, pressing Felix’s number.

 

She was gonna need a drink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLASHBACK! Or, where I reveal I know as much about couples therapy as I do about parent/teacher nights!

_ A year ago _

 

Sarah shifted in the chair, staring at the carpet, letting the woman’s voice drift over her, catching phrases here and there -  _ emotional honesty...learning to compromise...taking time out to recharge…  _ she rolled her eyes, one hand buried in her hair. She didn’t have to look at Rachel to see she was just as bored, although hiding it better. She always hid everything better. Sarah glanced at her anyway.

To her left, Rachel sat upright, posture perfect and hands folded in her lap, studying the therapist with an expression that said she was listening to every word and filing it away for future reference. Her brow was slightly furrowed. Sarah had no doubt she’d practised in the mirror until it was perfect. It was Rachel’s fault they were here, anyway - she’d requested it before she’d sign the divorce papers. Sarah had no doubt it was just a ploy to make herself look like the reasonable party, and what’s more, piss Sarah off.

 

It was working.

 

Behind the desk, the therapist blinked as Sarah shifted again, the chair creaking as she crossed her arms and exhaled loudly. 

 

“Sarah, would you like to talk about what you’re feeling right now?” The woman was older, dark hair, glasses, wrinkles that deepened when she smiled, which was often. Sarah felt kind of sorry for her, getting saddled with the two of them, but anyone asking her to  _ share her feelings  _ was barking up the wrong girl.

 

“Nope.” Sarah uncrossed her arms and went back to picking at the stitching of the chair arm. “Wouldn’t mind a drink, though.” She smirked as she heard a slight huff of air from beside her. The therapist moved her attention to Rachel. 

 

“How about you, Rachel, do you have anything you’d like to tell Sarah right now? I’ve gotten the impression that you are not fond of her drinking?”

 

Rachel gave a tiny sigh and sat up even straighter, opening her mouth to speak. She was interrupted by a sharp voice.

 

“I don’t bloody drink any more than  _ she _ does, she’s just a bloody snob.” Sarah rolled her eyes and leant forward, hands on knees. “Just ‘cause I don’t go in for those fancy wines that’d pay my rent for a year…” She chanced a look and was pleased to see Rachel’s nostrils flare just a tad. 

 

Rachel moved her mouth into a smile. 

 

“It’s true that I have _ tried _ to educate your palate somewhat, Sarah.” She looked at the therapist, her face open and sincere. “As for the cost, well….” she made a small gesture with one hand, like a pale origami bird. “Sarah knows very well that money is the least of our problems.” Her hands folded again, and she looked down at them. 

 

“It’s no problem for  _ you _ because  _ you’ve _ always  _ had _ it,” snapped Sarah. Dammit, she was losing her temper and that was exactly what she didn’t wanna do, not in front of someone taking notes about it. Not in front of someone who could deem her an unsuitable parent. She met Rachel’s eyes, and realised she’d been letting her thoughts run all over her face again when she spoke in a patently false sympathetic tone. 

 

“Kira will never want for anything, Sarah. You know that. Even if you insist on going ahead with the divorce, I will make sure that all her educational expenses are taken care of, and -”

 

“We don’t need your bloody money!” Sarah’s voice echoed off the walls. “Jesus, Rachel, you think you can make all your problems go away if you throw enough money at ‘em!”

 

Rachel sat and let Sarah’s voice wash over her, then tilted her head to the side and held her gaze.

 

“Isn’t that why you married me in the first place?” She lowered her eyes and examined her nails, lips curving upwards as Sarah sputtered out some choice curse words. The therapists eyebrows had raised in matching thin arcs and she scribbled in her notebook as she interjected. 

 

“Is that what you truly believe, that Sarah married you for your wealth?” she asked, still managing to keep her tone completely impartial.

Rachel studied Sarah coolly for a moment, then shook her head, her expression saying that she regretted being so harsh. Sarah didn’t buy it for a second.

 

“Not entirely. But I do believe it made the decision easier for her.”

 

Sarah opened her mouth, then shut it again. Couldn’t really argue with that. She’d spent so long scrounging and grifting to make ends meet, that the prospect of always having food in the fridge was too much to resist. She slumped back in her chair, and rubbed a hand over her face.  _ Fuck. _

 

The therapist tapped her pencil against the pad. Sarah stared at it, then looked at the wall. There was no clock in here anywhere, and they’d both had to turn their phones off when the session started. The pencil kept tapping and she felt the urge to snatch it and snap it in half, and throw it in Rachel’s smugly beautiful face.

_ Surely it was time _ , she thought desperately,  _ feels like bloody hours _ ...

 

The silence dragged on another minute or two, then the therapist sighed and put her pencil down. 

“I think that’s enough for today. Before we see each other again, I’d like the both of you to really think about what it is you’re trying to gain from these sessions, and if there is any real chance of a reconciliation. I understand that you, Sarah, are here under sufferance, as it were, but it needn’t be a waste of your time.” She frowned slightly over her glasses. “Not unless you want it to be.”

 

“Uh, yeah. Right.” Sarah nodded, making an attempt to look as sincere as Rachel did, probably failing at that too. Rachel was already standing, smoothing her hands down her dress, wrapping her coat around herself, handbag hanging just so over her arm.

 

“Thank you, Doctor, “ she murmured, and gracefully made her way to the exit, the soles of her heels flashing obscenely red at Sarah like tongues. Sarah followed, absentmindedly fiddling with her phone and turning it back on, her eyes trailing upwards slowly along the legs that were the same length as hers, but seemed so much longer, especially with that little slit at the back where you could just catch a flash of thigh...she realized she was biting her lip. Then she realized that Rachel had stopped walking and had half turned to look back at her. 

When she finally lifted her gaze to meet Rachel’s, she found her smirking. 

 

“You see,” Rachel purred as she stepped closer, “I know it wasn’t just my  _ money _ you married me for, Sarah.” Her scent teased at Sarah, making her remember how Rachel would prowl around her apartment in that silky skimpy slip, pausing at every mirror and dabbing a little perfume here, and there, and...

 

She swallowed, very aware of Rachel’s eyes on her throat as she did so. They’d somehow ended up in a short hallway that Sarah had never noticed before, and her boots hesitated, uncertain of which way to run. Rachel had taken another step closer, the heels clicking softly on the shining marble floor.

 

“Can I offer you a lift home?” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, against Sarah’s ear. Sarah closed her eyes, remembered what had happened the last time Rachel had asked that, and she had said  _ yeah, alright,  _ and of course the drivers window was soundproof and solid, and Rachel had crossed her legs just  _ so _ and Sarah had...nope, she wasn’t falling for that again.

 

Sarah stepped back, shaking her head.

 

“Nah, I’m good.” She balled up her hands in her pockets and tried not to think about how the seam of her jeans was rubbing against her as she moved now. She backed away further, until she came out into an open area that looked like it might lead somewhere. Rachel gave a little shrug, one shoulder rising and falling elegantly, and followed. Sarah could hear the heels clicking behind her and walked faster. She’d never understand how you could hate a person, and still  _ want _ them so much. It made her sick.

 

Once she got out into the fresh air, she felt a bit more herself. The sky had been blue when she’d entered, now it was all shades of grey, and it started to drizzle as she looked up.

_ Shite _ , she muttered, and pulled her hood up. Halfway down the block, the drizzle turned into a downpour and she dashed under a shop awning, wondering why the bloody hell she hadn’t brought along an umbrella.  _ Oh right, don’t have one _ . 

 

As she pulled her phone out to check the time, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb in front of her. A back window hummed down and Rachel’s voice drifted out. Sarah looked at the sliver of her face through the window, and up at the sky, and down at her phone again - school pick up was still hours away - and she shoved the phone back in her pocket and said  _ fuck  _ under her breath.

 

The door swung open and Sarah clambered in. Rachel smiled, and the door clunked shut behind her like a trap.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise some actual smut next time, folks!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The school bake sale takes an unexpected (and smutty) turn!
> 
> shout out to [icantbestill29](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantbestill29/pseuds/icantbestill29) for helping me with the bake sale info!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rachel's outfit is [here](https://www.onewed.com/photos/chic-white-tailored-suit-for-your-rehearsal-dinner-or-engagement-party-19395/) shout out to @orphanbeige for providing options for the always important 'but what is Rachel wearing' question!

Sarah groaned as Kira handed her another multi-coloured stack of flyers with the school logo, flicking through them as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

 

“More fundraisers?” she asked, “Jeez, why do I even pay your school fees, hey?” She stuck her tongue out at her daughter, who returned the favor.

 

“This is for our trip to Rattray Marsh, mum. You know, for the birds.” Kira screwed her face up at Sarah’s blank look. “Science class?”

 

“Oh, right,” Sarah nodded like it’d just slipped her mind, chewing her lip when Kira turned to grab an apple. “Shite mum,” she muttered at herself, and sat down at the dining table to sort the flyers into some sort of order. Going by dates, the first one was - she rolled her eyes - the classic bake sale.

Naturally, Sarah couldn’t bake for shit.

 

“Didn’t you guys just have a bake sale?” she asked desperately, as if that would somehow make this one go away.

 

Kira giggled.

“That was _months_ ago! Remember, you bought a cake from the Shop'n Save and when you told Aunty Alison she made that face.” Kira’s face froze in a look of scandalised horror, and Sarah snorted with laughter.

 

“Oh, yeah,” she chuckled, and then tapped her fingers on the table. “Maybe I should just ask her to gimme a hand this time, yeah?”

 

“Well….” Kira hesitated, “Yeaaaaah, but Aunty Rachel said she’d take care of it this time, so you don’t have to do anything.” She busied herself with the apple, avoiding Sarah’s suddenly stormy face for a moment, before glancing back. Sarah was still fuming but swallowed it down, again reminding herself to save the bitchiness for, well, the _bitch_.

 

“Did she? That’s....nice.” She frowned. “Wait, how does she even know about it? You just gave me the da...the flyer, today!” She waved it in the air. Kira sighed patiently.

 

“That’s the _second_ one about it. Aunty Rachel has a big calendar for all my school stuff and she marked it down, like, a _month_ ago.”

 

“Yeah, I bet she has,” Sarah muttered, and then tried to smile. “She’s very...organized.” Which was true, but what Sarah really wanted to say was ‘controlling’. Everything always had to be sorted out in advance and discussed and weighed up, and it bloody sucked all the fun out of it. God knows she’d tried to loosen Rachel up during their brief (and disastrous) marriage, get her to chill out once in awhile. Although...Sarah bit off a smirk...she could be surprisingly spontaneous in _certain_ areas.

She shook herself.

“Well, I guess we’ll leave this one up to dear Aunty Rachel then, monkey,” she said lightly, “Homework time, yeah?” As Kira grumbled, and headed upstairs, Sarah shifted in her seat, mouth turned down at the corners.

If only she could believe that Rachel was doing this kind of shit for the right reasons, because she actually _cared_ , it’d be a hell of a lot easier to handle. She ran a hand through her hair, kicked the table leg a few times, then pulled out her phone and dialled Alison.

 

“Hey, yeah. Listen, I need a favour…”

 

                                                                                                                           ⚮   ⚮   ⚮

 

Sarah was at the bake sale early, (Alison insisting on driving her and staying ‘for moral support’), and so had a ringside view of Rachel’s arrival. She’d half expected her to send one of her lackeys weighed down with baked goods rather than willingly put herself in the middle of a clump of soccer mums. _Bullshit, Manning, you knew she’d be here. That’s why_ you’re _here_.

And here she was, easily balancing a stack of Tupperware (glass of course, _not_ plastic) in her manicured hands, and managing to look elegant doing it, gliding across the floor in ivory trousers and a deceptively casual-looking tuxedo shirt that clung to her curves, with round black buttons leading up to her clavicle.

There was a momentary hush among the other parents, and then the buzzing returned, some of them glancing between Rachel and Sarah with expressions of anticipatory glee.

An unexpected drizzle had moved the sale into the gym, and every step Rachel took echoed off the wooden floor and high windows. As Sarah’s eyes slid down from the Tupperware to the way the trousers accented her…

“Sarah!” Alison hissed, “Stop gawping!”

 

_Shit,_ she muttered, and abruptly stood up.

She looked down at the table in front of her and fiddled with the plates of cupcakes that Alison had helped her with. Well, that Alison had _made_ while Sarah drank beer and bitched about her ex.

Beside her, Alison was whispering indignantly about _interlopers,_ and _inappropriately expensive clothing choices_ , and _who wears Alexander Mcqueen to a bake sale anyway,_ then she suddenly cleared her throat.

 

“Hello, Rachel. How _nice_ to see you.” Alison sounded exactly the way she did when speaking to Marci Coates, and Sarah snorted. She chanced a look up and found Rachel wearing that inscrutable smile. “You do realise that only _one_ item per family was stipulated?” Alison looked pointedly at the stack in Rachel’s arms.

 

“Always a pleasure, Mrs Hendrix.” Rachel met Alison’s dripping condescension with indifferent politeness, ignoring the question completely. Then her brow crinkled in feigned puzzlement. “Have Gemma and Oscar switched schools? I had no idea.”

 

Alison smiled through gritted teeth.

 

“No, no. I’m just helping Sarah out. Not that it’s any of your -”

Rachel had already turned her attention to Sarah, though, and Alison found herself speaking to the air. She huffed in annoyance, crossed her arms across her puffy vest and glared.

 

“Hello, Sarah,” she said in a voice like dark honey, and her eyes flicked down to the cupcakes. “Surely Kira informed you that I would be taking care of our contribution?”

 

Sarah shrugged.

 

“Yeah, well, you know,” she retorted, ‘More the merrier, all that shite.” Her hands fidgeted and she shoved them in her pockets, rocking back and forth on her boot heels.

 

“Indeed.” Rachel glanced at Alison, and then raised an eyebrow at Sarah. “And _you_ made all these lovely cupcakes with your very _own_ hands. I’m impressed.” The smile took on a smirking quality, and her nails tapped against the top lid, silver flashing. The knowing look in her eyes said she knew exactly who had made the cupcakes.

 

“Oh, piss off, Rachel,” snapped Sarah defensively. She should have shut up there, but before she could stop herself, her voice raised. “Anyway, you know yer _only_ doing this to get at me. Tryin’ to show me up!” Heads turned, and Alison plucked at Sarah’s leather jacket in an attempt to placate her.

 

Rachel’s eyebrows lifted, and she pursed her crimson lips in an attempt to look wounded.

 

“Oh, Sarah, this has _nothing_ whatsoever to do with _you_ . My _only_ intention is to assist in Kira’s education.” Her voice had that eminently reasonable quality that had always infuriated Sarah, but when she opened her mouth to snap back, Alison gave her arm a yank, and interrupted to point at an empty space down the long table.

 

“Rachel, there’s an empty spot just there. Why don’t you…” She made a shoo-ing gesture.

 

The blonde’s eyes didn’t leave Sarah, smiling as if daring her to say one more word, and then she swept past them, swaying her hips in that way she did when she knew Sarah was watching.

Sarah dropped back in the chair and tapped her boots on the floor, half-listening to the chit-chat and gossip swirling around the room. God, this was stupid. She shouldn’t have come.

 

“Sweet Moses, I don’t know how you two ever…” Alison gestured at Rachel.

Sarah exhaled

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t get you and Donnie either,” she muttered, grabbing a cupcake and picking at the wrapper, fighting the urge to storm over and smash it right in her ex’s beautiful face.

 

Alison craned her head to see what Rachel was taking out of the containers, giving a running commentary.

“Macaroons? I bet those are from that fancy artisan bakery in the city, that one near the subway.” She sniffed, hand at her throat. “As if anyone would believe _she’d_ do her own baking!”

 

“Actually, she’s a good cook, when she bothers,” admitted Sarah, hurriedly adding “...which wasn’t bloody often.” She rolled her eyes. “Did some fancy cooking course in bloody _Paris_ this one time. Top of the class.”

 

“Well.” Alison barreled on, “I just can’t imagine it. Oh my. They do look...miniature pear tarts, I think.” She squinted at the third container as Rachel snapped the lid off. “Opera cake!” By now, Sarah couldn’t tell if Alison was still scornful, or salivating.

 

“Why don’t you just go buy a bloody plateful, Alison.” She nudged her with an elbow. “Yer practically _droolin_ ’.”

 

Alison’s lips met in a thin line and she shook her head.

 

“I will not,” she said primly, “help your ex-wife set a bake sale record, Sarah.” She cast another glance at the scrumptious display that now covered the table in front of Rachel, then sat down next to Sarah and folded her hands in her lap. “Anyway, they’re probably not even _gluten free_.”

 

Soon people were filing in, and a small crowd gathered in front of Rachel’s wares. Sounds of gastronomical delight drifted over to Sarah and Alison, who had sold about half of the cupcakes, (not counting the ones Sarah had sneakily eaten while Alison was in the bathroom.) Sarah moved restlessly in her chair, jumping up whenever someone came close and trying to charm them into parting with their cash, overtly flirting with them if Rachel happened to be looking her way.

Which was often.

Every time Sarah glanced in her direction, she was smiling graciously as she handed yet another cellophane-wrapped treat over, chatting easily in French to some people. _Jesus_ , Sarah thought, _her face must be achin_ ’ _._

Alison kept up a whispering stream of gossip about the other parents - how she’d found out all this stuff, considering her kids went to a different school, Sarah had no idea. After half an hour, she was bored out of her skull.

 

“They should have a bar set up, make a lot more money that way,” she said, hoisting herself up out of her chair. “Just gonna go for walk, to the loo.” She ambled off towards the doorway at the back of the gym, pulling her phone out to check the time. _Only 2pm, bloody hell_

 

The doorway led to a hallway, buzzing with strips of fluorescent light. Sarah frowned. She was sure the toilets were through here somewhere, so she walked on, trying door handles in case she found anything else interesting. _Never know, one of the teachers might’ve stashed a bottle in…_ The first handle that turned was small supply closet, the second led to a larger room full of gym equipment. She flicked a switch next to the door. Stacks of gym mats, rows of medicine balls, a...

 

‘What the hell are they called again?” Sarah muttered to herself. “Pommy horse?” Back in Brixton, there’d been more concrete than not, and Sarah had never been very sporty. Physical, yes, but not in a school-approved way. By the time they got to Toronto, it was too late.

There was an audible sigh behind her.

 

“Honestly, Sarah. That is a _pommel_ horse.”

 

Sarah jumped, and spun around. The woman could move like a damn cat when she wanted to.

Rachel stood there, head tilted to the side, examining Sarah with a kind of fond exasperation...and blocking the doorway.

 

“ _Fuck_!” Sarah ran a hand through her hair, her heart still racing. Then she saw the look in Rachel’s eyes and swallowed, feeling her body respond, tried to fight it.

 

Rachel’s mouth curved up at one side. She took a step forward.

 

“Well,” she murmured, “If you insist.”

 

She took another step. Sarah took a step backward. Rachel’s spotless white trousers and shirt practically glowed under the bright lights - she’d neatly folded the sleeve cuffs up to the elbows, exposing the milky skin of her inner arms - Sarah’s eyes followed the line of buttons down the faux bib, lingered on the curve of her breasts, then continued down to the tight fitting fabric around her hips, then back up to the red curve of her lips. Another step back, and she was up against the bloody _pommel_ horse, the soft leather of her jacket and the hard leather of the horse squeaking against each other.

 

Rachel took one more step, a slow deliberate click of her heel on the scuffed linoleum, and curled her hands around the handles on either side of the horse, almost but not quite pressing up against Sarah.

 

Sarah jutted her chin out.

 

“Why can’t you just stay the hell away, Rach?” she hissed, and her hands found themselves on the blonde’s hips, fingers curving down over her arse. Rachel’s breath was hot against her throat, and then her teeth were digging into that soft little spot where her neck met her shoulder, and Sarah’s knees buckled. Rachel’s hands were under her jacket, making the leather creak as she pushed it off her shoulders slightly, inhibiting her arm movement. Sarah’s jeans were tight, too tight.

 

“You were the one who wasn’t supposed to be here today, Sarah.” Now her hands were under the thin black shirt, fingers tracing her ribs upwards until she was cupping her breasts. Sarah could feel the metal of the chunky gold watch she always wore, cold against her flushed skin. “Perhaps _you’re_ the one who needs to stay -” her fingers closed on the nipples that were already erect, and Sarah let out a strangled yelp - “away.” The sensation shot down from her nipples straight to her clit, and Sarah knew she was, quite literally, fucked.

 

Rachel moved her hands downwards, nails dragging on skin, then deftly flicked open the button on the tight black jeans. Sarah let her head fall back and she closed her eyes, the white light still glaring against her eyelids. Rachel paused, trailed one hand down Sarah’s exposed throat, then took her unresisting hands and wrapped them around the handles. Her breasts were pushed outwards and Rachel let her fingers circle around and over them, pinching the nipples a few more times and making a pleased noise when Sarah jerked and gasped.

 

Then her hands finally returned to the top of the jeans, pulling the zip down so slowly that Sarah thought she could hear each individual tooth separate. She couldn’t stop the tiny movements she was making towards those teasing fingers and she bit her lip to stop herself from begging. She wouldn’t give Rachel the satisfaction.

 

Finally, Rachel tugged the jeans down just enough for her to slide her hand in, and Sarah couldn’t stop a moan escaping as it cupped her, pressing her fingers against the damp patch on Sarah’s knickers. She wriggled a little so the fingers pressed harder, feeling the thumb grind against her clit, and her own fingers tightened around the handles, arm muscles straining. She felt the hand move up a little, fingers squeezing and pinching, then slide down again, this time against hair and flesh. Her other hand splayed across Sarah's collarbone.

 

Sarah was so wet by now that Rachel’s fingers slipped in instantly, two at first, then adding a third in the next stroke, and she groaned in her throat, matched by another pleased sound in Rachels. Her eyes were shut so tightly she could see stars exploding, her muscles contracted around Rachel’s fingers as she fucked her slowly and relentlessly, until she was arching her back and her mouth was gaping open.

The orgasm hit her like a truck, and she turned her head to one side, letting out a breathless stream of _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,_ knuckles white as she gripped the handles.

 

She slumped back against the hard bulk of the pommel horse, keeping her eyes closed to avoid the look in Rachel’s. The she felt fingers against her lips and she startled, lifting her head just enough to see her eyes, darker than before, and then she was licking her own juices from Rachel’s fingers and Rachel was smiling at her, and Sarah felt like she was falling back down the rabbit hole.

 

Slowly, her awareness came back - her fingers were stiff and sore when she finally let go of the handles, her arm were aching, and her knickers were soaked.

 

“Oh, fuck,” she groaned out loud, and combed her hair back with her fingers, balancing with the other hand, her legs still too shaky to walk. She took a few deep breaths. Before she could say anything, Rachel spoke in a perfectly even voice.

 

“I’ll be attending next month’s fundraiser, Sarah. Just so you know to,” she paused before practically purring, “ - _stay away_.”

 

Sarah stared down at her boots until Rachel clicked her heels out the door and back down the hallway. Then she leaned on the firmness of the pommel horse, and rubbed a hand over her face. After a moment she realised her jeans were still undone and she swore again, yanking on them and fumbling with the zipper and button. Then she kicked the stupid horse thing and stomped out.

 

By the time she got back to the gym, the bake sale was all but over. Rachel had disappeared.

Alison was fidgeting with a pile of plastic boxes and leftover cupcakes, checking her phone every other minute. When she caught sight of Sarah, she pulled her puffy vest down tightly and stepped towards her quickly.

 

“Where in the...fudge have you been, Sarah? Did you get lost or something?” She raked her eyes over Sarah’s slightly disheveled state and shook her head in disbelief. “Oh no. Don’t tell me that you...and...Sarah, this is a place of _education_! There are _children_! Oh my _lord_.” Her eyes were comically round, and her mouth a perfectly straight line.

Sarah shrugged.

 

“Just...leave it, Ali, yeah? I feel bad enough.” And she did. Guilty as hell, with a side of self-loathing...and every time she moved she could feel tiny aftershocks. She hated the way Rachel could make her feel so _good._

 

Alison folded her arms.

 

“Well! Honestly, you two can’t be in the same square mile without...goings on.” Her voice lowered. “It’s so... _nasty_.”

 

 

“Yeah, well, what can I say?” Sarah cracked a grin, and in her pockets her nails dug into her palms.

“She can’t stay away from me, can she?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo, a few things - this isn't really going to be any kind of linear story, but more just snippets from their lives. It's basically a fun AU where I get to write smut for these two! Updates are likely to remain random, as I'm working on other stuff ALL THE TIME...  
> But I'm so happy that everyone is enjoying it and thank you for all your wonderful comments <3 <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah reminisces about how she and Rachel first met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, all I wanted was Rachel in [#That Dress](http://antisocialclimber.tumblr.com/post/166330885236) and got this so...

Sarah tipped the glass in her hand backwards and forwards, watching the dark amber liquid glow in the late afternoon sun, then drained it and gestured for another. It was the quiet hour, just before people started coming in for after-work drinks, which meant Sarah was uncomfortably alone with her thoughts. She could see the door in the reflection behind the bar, and when it swung open to admit a woman with blonde hair dressed in white, she was half out of her seat with what felt like a fist in her chest before she realised it _wasn’t_ her ex.

She dropped back onto the barstool and dug fingers into her scalp until her heartbeat steadied, then emptied the glass again, tapped it on the bar and pointed. The bartender - Joe, John, somethin’ like that, she should feel bad for not remembering considering they’d shagged once - raised an eyebrow but poured anyway.

 

“You alright, Manning?” His voice was warily friendly.

 

Sarah flashed her teeth.

 

“Yeah. Great.” She nodded at the glass. “Thanks.” Sipping at the bourbon, she looked again at the woman and saw she didn’t resemble Rachel in the slightest - she would never let her roots grow out that much, or wear purple lipstick, and she was too tall. Cute, yeah. But not _her_.

 

“Fuck,” muttered Sarah, and tipped the booze down her throat. Joe/John/Josh(?) shook his head ruefully and poured her another. She looked at it, then at him, and grinned again, lips curling to expose her canines. “How’s my tab lookin’ these days?”

 

“Paid in full,” he shrugged, “as usual.”

 

The glass stopped on the way to her mouth.

 

“Wot? Who the fuck by?” Even as she said it, the inevitable answer crawled out of her brain. “That bitch,” she breathed. The guy chuckled.

 

“That’s gotta be a first, you not wanting someone else to pay for your drinks.” He stepped back and held his hands up as Sarah glared at him. “Jesus, sorry.”

 

She deflated, and looked down at the scratched surface of the bar, drew a finger through the damp circles left by her glass. Well, that explained why he always poured her the top shelf stuff. She hated the idea of Rachel still having her tendrils in every facet of Sarah’s life, even here, where she came to _escape_ that shit. Bloody stupid to keep comin’ back here. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

This is where they’d _met_ , for fucks sake.

  


                                                                                                                      ⚮   ⚮   ⚮

 

It had been summer, only really bearable to be out at night when the air had cooled down. Still too warm for her usual leather jacket look, so it was just black jeans and a loose black tee that she’d ripped the sleeves off. The bar had been crowded, dimly lit, and noisy, but Sarah had noticed her as soon as she walked in. The woman with a razor sharp blonde bob and lipstick like a smear of blood was gazing around the room with a kind of bemusement, standing apart from the crowd at one of the side tables and exuding the kind of class this place didn’t usually attract.

 _Another well-heeled snob slumming it for a laugh_ , Sarah shrugged to herself, and pushed her way through to the bar, nodding at at a few familiar faces and treating the bartender to a crooked grin.

“Usual?” he mouthed, not bothering to yell over the crowd.

Sarah shook her head, pointed at the beer. It was cheaper than bourbon and she was skint this week. But she needed a drink, or ten, after the row she’d just had with her foster mum. Usual shite, _Kira needs stability, you need to get a job, you know I’ll always support her but you need to...where the hell do you think you’re going_

 

As she leaned on an elbow, and tipped the bottle up, her eyes kept drifting to the mirror behind the bar, and the blonde woman’s reflection. Not her usual type - too elegant, too stuck-up. But she could prove to be distracting enough for a night. So she turned in her seat enough to check out the real thing again.

The crowd parted a little, enough to see all of her, and Sarah’s eyes slowly travelled down from pale shoulders and forearms left bare by a black dress that hugged the subtle curves down to her calves above the highest heels Sarah had ever seen. As the woman moved slightly, a front-centered slit exposed a flash of legs up to the thighs.

 

Sarah swallowed on a suddenly dry mouth and shifted in her seat again.

 

As if feeling the weight of her gaze, the woman suddenly looked over and met Sarah’s eyes, holding them for what seemed like an eternity. Her head tilted to the side slightly, and she blinked, once, slowly, before shifting her attention back to man next to her. Sarah had never seen anyone look more obviously bored before, a fact that the skeezy looking dude in glasses talking endlessly in her ear was clearly oblivious to.

 

As she took another sip of beer, Sarah turned back and watched the mirror again, idly letting her eyes wander over the rest of the crowd, but she kept returning to the blonde.  There was a martini glass in front of her, and as Sarah turned again and watched, chin on one hand and the other rubbing a thumb against the beer bottle, the blonde grasped the olive-bearing toothpick between two silver nails, tapping it against the edge of the glass.

As she raised it to her red red mouth, she looked straight at Sarah, the olives disappearing between her lips and the toothpick emerging empty. She tilted her head again, dropped the toothpick into the empty glass, and her lips curved into a tiny smile that was somehow challenging. Sarah realised her own drink was still in mid-air, so she took a swig, then grinned as she let her tongue run around the bottle top a little.

The red smile grew slightly wider. She looked away and up, as if considering, then at the _still_ blathering spectacled man, and picked up her glass. She spoke, then turned on a heel and walked away.

 

Towards Sarah.

 

Who quickly turned back to the bar, checking her eyeliner hadn’t melted too much and her hair was still...yeah, it was a bird’s nest. Great. Still, the woman was obviously after a bit of rough, so Sarah grinned at her reflection. Then her eyes flicked back to the blonde, the way she cradled the empty martini glass in an elegantly curved hand, a small clutch purse in the other, the way the crowd seemed to give way for her as she glided across the uneven floor effortlessly, the way the pale skin of her bare legs appeared and disappeared into the shadows of the dress.

Then she was right there, at Sarah’s elbow, placing the glass on the bar with a _clink_ and then sliding it towards the bartender with her fingertips. The silver of her nails gleamed. So did the heavy-looking gold watch on her left wrist.

“Another,” she stated, in an English accent, the poshness of it immediately rubbing Sarah up the wrong way, vague memories of taunts in London schoolyards poking at her brain.

Sarah’s boot started tapping against the floor and she glanced up at the mirror to find the blonde staring at her.

She turned in her seat to face her, and let her lips part in a half-grin, the barstool not quite high enough to put them on eye-level. Her jean-clad knees brushed against legs, but they didn’t move away. Leaning back slightly, she looked back at the skeezy guy, smirking when she saw the look of petulant frustration on his face.

 

“Yer boyfriend looks mad,” she said jokingly, taking another swig of her beer and studying the blonde’s face. The roughness of her own accent made an eyebrow raise slightly, and the woman huffed a little breath out, bringing her collarbones into sharp relief above the sharp line of the black fabric.

 

“ _Business_ associate.” Her voice was curt, then it mellowed a little, enough to feel confidential. “Unfortunately.” She looked at the bottle in Sarah’s hand with distaste. ”Would you like an _actual_ drink?”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Sarah shrugged a shoulder, tilting her head so she was looking up at the blonde through her lashes. “Bourbon.” The woman tipped her head up, studying the top shelf of bottles, nodded at the bartender and pointed. He pulled the bottle down and widened his eyes at Sarah before pouring.

 

“You _are_ in luck. I wouldn’t expect a bar of this standard to stock Michter’s.” She finally turned to face Sarah fully. Her eyes were similar to Sarah’s own, a mix of green and brown, maybe slightly more green, amber specks catching the light. If the hair was dyed, it was clearly done well and often enough to look natural. Her makeup was understated, apart from the red, red lipstick, and the only jewellry was the gold watch. Sarah could tell she had money - not just rich, but _wealthy_.

There was a scent of sandalwood that melded with the smell of beer, and the sweat of the crowd. Sarah felt herself relax a little more as the woman slid a credit card across the bar, then wave her hand dismissively at the bartender.

 

“Just leave the bottle,” she ordered crisply, without bothering to look at him again. His eyebrows shot up, then he shrugged and put the bottle and a squat glass in front of Sarah, and a fresh martini in front of her. Sarah felt her own eyebrows rise. The woman had just casually dropped over a _thousand bucks_ on a drink. She bit her lower lip and cast another glance upwards, only to find herself being studied. For a moment she felt like she was under a microscope, then shook it off and slid her arm along the bar a little, edging her way into the blonde's space.

She allowed it.

 

Sarah let her canines show, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and leaned in for the kill.

 

“So, you gotta name, or what?” she said teasingly, “And do you always have business meetings in bars of this _standard_?” Sure, the bar was seedy, but that’s why Sarah loved it, and the judgement rankled a little. Not enough to put her off though. Something about this one was _different_.

 

“Rachel.” Her head tilted. “And no. I’m afraid my...associate insisted.” She leaned in a little as well. “I believe he was trying to impress me somehow.” Rachel wrapped her fingers around the martini glass and lifted it to her lips, not taking her eyes off Sarah. “It seems his plan has...backfired somewhat.”

 

Sarah smirked and raised her own glass, the bourbon flowing smoothly over her tongue and down her throat, not burning like the usual cheap shite. She nodded her approval at Rachel.

 

“Nice,” she said, taking another sip, and letting her eyes wander up and down Rachel’s figure, leaving it open as to whether she was referring to the bourbon or to her. She seemed satisfied either way, blonde hair framing her face as she tipped her own glass upwards, eyelashes lowered.

This time Sarah could see the tip of her tongue as her lips parted around the edge of the glass and she shifted on her chair, squeezing her thighs together briefly.

“I guess it’s true what they say, yeah?” she took another sip, and then leaned forward just a little more, lowering her voice so it was husky against Rachel’s ear. “The more expensive, the sweeter the taste.” She let her mouth curl in a wolf smile as Rachel’s eyelashes raised, and those eyes pinned Sarah down again. She’d always found it easy to read people - hell, she’d practically made a _living_ out of it -  but this one was proving to be a challenge. It was as if every movement was calculated and deliberate, every tiny curve of the lip, every flutter of her eyelashes. Sarah speculated on what it would take to crack that facade. She sipped the very expensive bourbon, running her tongue over her lips, and wondered how Rachel would taste.

If they were in a dark corner, she’d be tempted to slip a hand inside that split in the dress and…

 

The moment was interrupted by a male voice on the point of whininess, and Rachel’s face closed up. Sarah straightened up on her stool, draining her glass and setting it down on the bar with a crack before glaring belligerently at the source of the noise.

 

He glanced at her sneeringly before addressing Rachel in a low voice.

 

“Rachel. I thought you were just fetching another round.” He glared darkly at Sarah, taking note of the bottle on the bar. “Not making _friends_ with the local punk rock ho’s.”

 

Sarah was on her feet in an instant, fury making the blood thump in her ears.

 

“You _wot_ , mate?” she snapped, stepping towards him. He’d already dismissed her, however, turning back to Rachel and grasping her forearm. Sarah saw Rachel’s expression turn from blank to furious, and back again in a split second, and she looked down at the man’s hand on her arm, then back up at him, narrowing her eyes slightly.

For a moment he froze, seemingly aware he’d made an irreversible mistake, then carefully removed his hand and took a step back. His stuttering apology went unheeded.

 

“I believe you’ll find your business with DYAD is finished, Mr Chevalier,” Rachel stated icily. “As of now.” She smoothed her hands down the front of the black dress. “No one lays hands on me.”

 

His face dropped, and Sarah folded her arms, grinning widely as his words stumbled.

 

“Fuck off, you wanker,” she said loudly, and laughed as he slunk away through the crowd, attracting not a few jeers from amused onlookers on the way. She looked at Rachel, who was calmly pouring Sarah another bourbon, elbow pointed. “I coulda just punched him, y’know.”

 

“Mmm. As satisfying as that would have been, it was unnecessary.” She handed Sarah the glass, the tips of their fingers meeting. Rachel held onto the glass a second longer than needed, and Sarah felt her pulse quicken but not from anger this time. “Now, before we were so rudely interrupted, I believe were discussing…” she performed the little ritual with the toothpick again, sliding the olives between her lips suggestively. “...tastes?” Her teeth flashed as she bit down, and Sarah couldn’t stop staring at that red red mouth.

When she finally dragged her gaze up, Rachel’s eyes were studying her again, gleaming with hunger.

 

“Let’s get outta here,” Sarah heard herself saying, voice rough with desire. This woman was proving to be more distracting than she’d hoped, and while she was no stranger to some blatantly public makeouts, she doubted Rachel would go for it. If she was gonna let go at all, it would be privately.

 

And Sarah suddenly wanted very badly to see her come undone.

 

She wasn’t surprised when Rachel took control of the situation - messaging for her car with silver nails flashing over the sleek phone, settling the bill with a generous tip, leading the way out the door. Sarah just shrugged and followed, relieved of playing the aggressor for once. It wasn’t until they were sharing the wide back seat of a fancy black sedan with the window between them and the driver firmly closed that Rachel touched her, tracing a finger down Sarah’s cheek to her jawline, then down her neck to the loose black fabric covering her breasts.

Her hand paused, then continued downwards until her palm was resting warm against Sarah’s denim-clad thigh. She was turned sideways on the seat, her whole body tilted towards Sarah as she retraced the route back up Sarah’s body, sliding underneath the t-shirt and scratching lightly against her ribs.

Sarah let her head fall back on the soft leather and kept watching the soft pale gleam of Rachel’s crossed legs through her lashes, imagining how soft the skin of her thighs was. But she left her hands rest on the outside of her own thighs, the image of Rachel’s face when that man had touched her making her uncharacteristically reticent in case she provoked the same reaction. The other hand was cupped around the back of Sarah’s neck, thumb running up and down the top of her spine, until it moved up, gripped her hair and pulled her head forward to within an inch of Rachel’s own. Her mouth opened a little and Sarah’s followed suit, as she tugged a little against the hand in her hair, but those red lips remained teasingly out of reach.

Her eyes were darker now, the amber lights eclipsed. Sarah had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in her entire life.

 

The car stopped.

 

A private lift took them up to the penthouse, Rachel using the time to send a flurry of emails, leaving Sarah to lean against the wall, tapping out a rhythm with her hands. She smiled in satisfaction and put her phone away as the elevator doors _pinged_ open onto a short hallway leading to one door. When the blonde swiped a card and opened the door, Sarah stopped dead a few feet in at the sight of the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Toronto.

Lights stretched out as far as she could see, beyond a spacious apartment furnished with understated elegance - living area to the left, open kitchen to the right, bedroom...somewhere. She could see a white leather sofa and softly glowing floor lamps, and their own faint reflections, but the view outside was mesmerising.

Sarah turned in a slow circle, hands in her back pockets.

 

“Nice digs,” she said casually. Part of her was weighing up how much it was all worth and scanning for small pocketable items. A smaller part of her felt slightly guilty about it, and she wondered why.

 

“Yes.” Rachel answered, placing her clutch on the marble-topped bench to the right, then gliding over to Sarah and taking her face in her silver-tipped hands, continuing to move forward until Sarah was pushed up against the nearest window. The glass was cold but she didn't care. Her thumb traced it’s way around Sarah’s lips, pulling the bottom one so her mouth opened, and then, finally, she kissed her.

 

Sarah couldn’t stop the moan that came out of her throat at the contact and she hungrily sucked at Rachel’s lips, tasting lipstick, and then juniper as her tongue snaked its way into her mouth. She felt Rachel’s hands slowly move down her throat, onto her bare shoulders to push her even more firmly against the window, then dig those silver nails in as she tipped her own head upwards, allowing Sarah’s mouth to trail down over the line of her jaw and onto the smooth pale skin of her neck.

As she bared her teeth against Rachel’s jugular, she felt the nails dig in deeper. They scratched their way down her arms and she responded by licking and nipping at Rachel’s neck, feeling her pulse quicken under her tongue. Her hands were claws on the glass until Rachel slid her fingers around the wrists and pulled them forward so they fitted around Rachel’s hips, making a little sound in her throat as Sarah curved her fingers and pulled her forward so the two of them were pressed together.

 

Sarah felt like she’d been granted permission, at last, and slid one hand up the back of the dress until she reached bare skin and sharp shoulder blades. A little further and she was cradling the back of Rachel’s head, the skull fitting into her palm. She spun them both around so Rachel was now the one pressed back against the window, hearing her murmur in an approving tone.

Now her hands couldn’t stop exploring the contours of Rachel’s body, all elegant curves and the silkiest skin she’d ever touched, her own fingertips feeling rough and calloused in comparison.

Her mouth was still on Rachel’s throat, sliding down to kiss her way along the collarbones, biting into the shoulders to leave angry red marks on the flawless skin, quivering as she felt hands tugging at her shirt. She leaned back just enough to let Rachel pull it over her head, shaking her mane out as she emerged, and smirking as their eyes met. Silver nails ran down to her breasts, pinching her nipples through the thin black cotton of her bra.

 

“ _Mmmfuck,”_ she gasped, desperately sliding her own hands into the dress split to find toned thighs and skimpy satin knickers that were damp to the touch. Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she rubbed back and forth against the silky dampness, watching those red lips open wider.

Rachel was grinding against her now, the controlled facade of her face softened somewhat with desire as she let small gasps escape.

 

Sarah leaned into her hands, feeling them tighten on her breasts, and smashed her mouth against Rachel’s again, her own knickers just as wet. She responded with tongue and teeth, her fingers giving Sarah’s nipples one last twist before sliding her palms back up to her shoulders and then pressing down insistently.

Sarah groaned into her mouth as she realised what Rachel wanted, knees already buckling. As she slid down she hooked her fingers into the thin satin and dragged the knickers down with her, pulling them over the red-soled heels that Rachel carefully lifted one at a time. She eased the dress up slightly, the split already exposing the shadow between Rachel’s thighs.

 

Rachel entangled her fingers in the wild mane of Sarah’s hair and used it like a leash, guiding her mouth, and letting out a series of muted sounds as Sarah’s tongue licked and probed and flicked. The sounds grew louder as she added fingers, and closed her mouth around the nub at the top, her other hand pressed between her thighs as her own clit throbbed in need.

 

She waited until Rachel was right on the brink, her hands tightening almost painfully in Sarah’s hair, before allowing herself to grind down hard enough to get herself off. The vibrations of her groans sent Rachel over the edge, a long, low moan issuing from her throat as she came into Sarah’s mouth.

 

She tasted sweeter than she could have imagined.

 

It wasn’t until hours later, after they’d moved from the window to the couch to, (briefly), the kitchen counter, and finally, the bed, that Rachel stroked Sarah’s tangled hair away from her face, and said, with a wry smile,

 

“Before you leave, I suppose I should ask you what your name is.”

 

Sarah snorted with laughter.

 

“Sure you wanna spoil the mystery?” she joked, before sitting up and stretching her arms above her head. Rachel’s eyes moved down to her bare breasts appreciatively and her mouth, now free of lipstick, quirked to one side.

 

“I’m not fond of mysteries. They can make things...unpredictable.” She tilted her head to the side and regarded Sarah. “I already know where and what you drink. That you’re originally from...Brixton. But you’ve been in Toronto long enough to be somewhat settled.” She paused before adding, “That you have a child.”

Her eyebrows raised as Sarah threw the crumpled sheet off the bed and jumped up angrily.

 

“That’s none of your fucking business,’ she snapped, stalking around the room in search of her discarded clothing. “How the hell do you even..”

 

Rachel sighed, sliding to the edge of the bed to pick up a white silk robe, throwing it around her shoulders in one smooth movement.

 

“I’ve been looking at your naked body for quite a few hours now,” she stated matter-of-factly, “There _are_ signs.”

 

Sarah glared at her as she pulled her jeans back on, then looked down at her still-naked torso. The stretch marks were faint, but still visible if you paid attention. There were also smears of lipstick and not a few bitemarks, the sight of which sent a little quiver through her.

 

“Shit,” she muttered, running fingers through her hair. The anger subsided a little. “Still none of yer business.”

 

Rachel studied her face, then nodded.

 

“Very well.” She stood. “If you take the elevator back down, the car will meet you there.” She smoothed the robe down over her ribs. “It’ll take you wherever you like.”

 

“Great.”

Sarah found her bra lying over a couch in the living room, and her shirt was still on the floor next to the window, next to Rachel’s knickers. She stared at them while she hooked the bra back on and a slideshow of the previous several hours played through her mind as she pulled the shirt over her head. Rubbing a hand over her face, she sat down to put her boots on and stayed there a moment, staring out the windows. It was still a few hours before sunrise.

The sound of water running stirred her and she made her way quietly to the bathroom doorway. It was ajar and she could just see Rachel standing under the shower, head back, blonde hair dark and heavy. Her eyes were closed. Sarah chewed on her lip, feeling a pull somewhere deep down. She was even more beautiful for the lack of adornment.

But there was something else about her.

 

“Fuck,” Sarah whispered, and bumped her head against the door frame. Then she turned, and left.

 

                                                                                                                             ⚮   ⚮   ⚮

 

When Rachel had finished showering, she padded out into the kitchen and switched on the espresso machine. She turned to fetch a cup, and noticed a scrap of paper on the far side of the marble counter-top.

On it was scrawled a number, and a name. She placed a silver nail on it and pulled it towards her.

 

Sarah.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was one of those chapters that really got away from me - I just wanted them to bang, but they insisted on _talking_ *throws hands up in the air*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas, S is back home, Kira is in a school play, and Sarah and Rachel...you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say these chapters were pretty much stand-alone, BUT this one kind of carries on from the last, so ignore me :)

Sarah ended up leaving the bar earlier than she’d planned. The memories of her ex had soured her mood and she could feel that familiar itch under her skin now - the itch to fight.

Or failing that…

So, she’d left before she could get drunk enough to do something _really_ stupid. Part of her ‘trying to be a good mum’ deal. Anyway, the bartender had gotten all sulky ‘cause she couldn’t remember his name. She kicked at the footpath. Like it was _her_ fault that he hadn’t made it worth remembering.

 

The air was brisk, the last bit of daylight having all but disappeared, so she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. She’d been wearing it so long it had moulded itself to the shape of her shoulders and the leather was wearing at the elbows. Rachel had bought her a new one, way back, but she hadn’t worn it since the split. It had been stupidly expensive, of course, and the leather buttery soft. She’d tried it on for the first time over her bare skin, Rachel watching with her head tilted to the side as Sarah strutted the length of the living room in front of the windows, clad in nothing but the jacket and a pair of knickers.

She’d given her a right thank you then and there, as well. At the time, Sarah had still thought the expensive gifts were Rachel’s way of saying she loved her. She’d always been more sparing with her words than with her money, which had suited Sarah just fine.

At first.

 

The phone in her pocket buzzed and she pulled it out, squinting at the screen. Event reminder...school play...she felt her heart stop for a second, before she remembered that the play was _tomorrow_. Kira had a small role, but had been more excited about painting backdrops and sorting props. Sarah’s thumb flicked over to her contacts and hovered above the screen while she sternly told herself not to even think about texting Rachel and scratching that itch.

With some effort, she shoved the phone back in her pocket and set off on the walk home. S was back from Ireland for Christmas, and she’d be pleasantly surprised to see Sarah home at a reasonable hour. They’d sit up, have a few drinks, and talk, just like they used to.

It’d be good.

 

                                                        

                                                                                                                                 ⚮     ⚮     ⚮

 

Sarah woke up with her arms wrapped around a pillow, dragging herself out of a dream involving Rachel and mirrors and a lot of bare skin. The sheets were damp from sweat and there was a wet patch on the pillow from her drool.

“Gross,” she mumbled, pushing back her snarled mass of hair. She and S had sat up late at the kitchen table, sharing some good Irish whiskey she’d bought back with her and catching each other up, and now her head ached. But the aroma of a fry-up was drifting up the stairs and it was making her mouth water. Nothing like eggs and beans and stacks of fried meat to manage a hangover. She sat up, slowly, groping around the pile of clothes on the floor and pulling out a t-shirt. It was her favourite old Clash one that she’d _finally_ managed to get back from Helena, and as she slid it over her head, the smell of her sister filled her nose and her heart panged.

_Hope she makes it back in time for Christmas..._ Sarah thought, and made her way downstairs.

  


By late afternoon, she was too restless to stay in the house. S was just finishing up the alterations on Kira’s costume and Kira was already at the school helping things get set up, so Sarah offered to drop the costume off. Maybe a walk would burn off some energy...although there was probably only one way to rid herself of _this_ particular itch. She gave a frustrated sigh as she strode along the footpath, swinging the bag that contained folds of green fabric ready to transform Kira into a tree.

 

The school entrance was brightly lit, and this time Sarah knew to _push_ the front door open. She followed signs that pointed the way to the auditorium, steps echoing in the hushed corridors, as always feeling like she shouldn’t be there. The door opened with a loud clunk and banged shut behind her, but it was ignored in the general low grade panic that was present before every stage show.

A few students were dawdling along the rows of chairs, clutching piles of programmes and placing them on the seats while whispering loudly to each other. They all stopped and stared at Sarah while she passed, and for a moment she felt affronted that they saw her as some kind of _adult_ intruding on their space...then she heard Kira’s voice call out _mum!_ and she grinned and waved.

“Hey, monkey,” she said, hoisting the bag up. “Got yer tree.”

Kira bounced down the stairs at the side of the stage and ran over to Sarah, who crouched down and wrapped her up in a bear hug.

“Muuum,” she protested, giggling and squirming away.

“All ready for the big night?” Sarah asked, ruffling her hair and standing up as she passed the bag over.

“Well...mostly I just have to stand there,” Kira shrugged.

“Oh. c’mon, you’re gonna be the best tree ever!” Sarah protested, laughing. A part of her registered the heavy door opening and slamming shut back behind her, and then the sound of heels on the wooden floor made her close her eyes briefly and groan inwardly.

Kira’s face lit up.

“Aunty Rachel!” She ran forward, stopping before she collided into the blonde. Rachel smiled, carefully placing her handbag on the nearest seat and leaning down slightly, blonde bob fanned out, reaching out to touch Kira on the shoulder with a silver-tipped hand.

“The set looks wonderful, Kira,” she said warmly, “Very...evocative.”

Kira beamed, and Sarah crossed her arms and glared. Her stomach was tight with the familiar sick anger that she felt every time her ex was around, mixed with that low down attraction she couldn’t shake. Especially when Rachel was wearing what she was wearing. Sarah shifted on her feet and tried not to stare, but her eyes kept being dragged back to the curves just barely hidden by a white suit jacket over what appeared to be bare skin, and matching tightly fitting trousers.

She swallowed.

Rachel ignored her.

“And are you prepared for your stage debut?’ she continued, straightening up but keeping her hand on Kira’s shoulder. Kira nodded.

 

“I’m gonna be the best tree ever!” she said, turning and grinning at Sarah, who grinned back, fighting the urge to pull Kira away. Rachel finally looked at her.

“Hello, Sarah,” she said in a voice like honey. Her mouth curved ever so slightly at one side as if she knew exactly what Sarah was thinking. Her hand remained on Kira's shoulder a moment longer than necessary. 

 

“Rachel,” she answered through gritted teeth, mindful of Kira still standing between them. She raked her hair back. _Why didn’t I bloody notice the set painting, Kira’s been talkin’ about it all month…_ “Didn’t know you were comin’.”

 

Rachel raised her eyebrows.

 

“I wouldn’t dare miss it,” she said smoothly, smiling down at Kira again. “I’ve been helping Kira practice on our weekends.”

 

Sarah stared blankly.

 

“Helpin’ her...be a tree?” Her face screwed up, trying to imagine Rachel Duncan’s best tree impression. “Well, I s’pose you always did have a stick up yer - “ She stopped before the word ‘arse’ came out of her mouth and ruffled Kira’s hair again, trying not to notice that she was giving her mother a slightly disapproving look. It matched the one on Rachel’s face.

 

There was a flurry of movement on the stage, and a harried looking teacher called out for everyone to do a final costume check. Kira hurried off, turning and waving at both of them on the way.

Rachel sighed as she watched Kira go, then gracefully pivoted to pick up her handbag and hang it on an elbow.

 

“It may be _difficult_ for you to believe, Sarah, but I _do_ want what is best for her.” She smoothed the front of her jacket and Sarah’s eyes were again drawn to the expanse of skin above it. When she managed to tear her gaze away, Rachel was watching her, head tilted to the side like a bird.

 

“Yeah, right.” muttered Sarah defensively, feeling her leg start to jump.

 

“ _And_ for you _.”_ Rachel continued, “You do seem _snappier_ than usual, Sarah. Are you sure you’re getting enough - “ Her eyes ran down Sarah’s figure and her mouth curved a little more as she took a step closer. “ - sleep?”

“Oh, piss off,” Sarah muttered, standing her ground. At least, that was what she told herself, when really it just meant she could now smell the subtle layers of scent radiating from Rachel’s skin. It meant she could touch her, if she wanted to.

Which she didn’t.

Her fists clenched at her sides.

 

Rachel kept talking as if she hadn’t noticed her discomfort.

 

“There _is_ an important matter I need to discuss with you.” She glanced up at the stage where children were trooping on and off. “Perhaps somewhere quieter...” Her searching gaze found another door and she headed towards it purposefully, not even looking back to see if Sarah was following.

 

Sarah crossed her arms, watching her walk away, eyes irresistibly drawn to the subtly swaying hips in those tight white pants. Then she let out a loud exasperated sigh and headed after her, trying to ignore the tightness of her own jeans and how they rubbed against her as she walked and...damn it. Rachel was right about one thing - Sarah definitely hadn’t been getting enough _sleep_ lately.

 

The door led out to a hallway lined with other doors. One was open, and Sarah leaned on the doorway, eyeing Rachel warily. She’d perched on the edge of a square wooden table, legs crossed, her white leather handbag at her feet. The windowless room was stuffed with furniture - stacked plastic chairs and empty bookshelves and cardboard boxes marked with dates from ten years ago. Half of the fluorescent lights were dark. Rachel’s effortless elegance looked incongruous against the humdrum background.

She clasped her hands around her knee, idly swinging one stiletto back and forth.

Sarah shoved her hands in her pockets.

 

“So, what the bloody hell is so important, Rachel?” she asked, then scowled as her suspicion grew. “You’re not expecting to have Kira for Christmas, are ya? That’s for family and you’re not…” Her voice trailed off. Rachel blinked.

 

“I am aware,” she said stiffly, picking an invisible piece of lint off her knee with silver nails. “No, this would occur in January. I’ll be attending a conference in Zurich. Switzerland,” she added to Sarah’s blank stare. “And I would like Kira to accompany me.”

 

“To a conference? C’mon, Rach, she’d be bored out of her brain!” Sarah shook her head. “And besides, you’ve never taken her out of the country before. How do I know you’d even bring her back?”

 

Rachel’s foot stopped swinging.

 

“Are you suggesting,” she said in a low, perfectly even voice, eyes narrowed, “That I would _kidnap_ Kira in order to extract some kind of _revenge_ on you?” One hand fluttered up and pressed itself against the hollow of her throat. “Surely you know me a _little_ better than that, Sarah.” Her voice sounded mildly insulted but Sarah was sure she could hear a layer of genuine pain buried underneath. She chewed at her lower lip. Managing to actually _hurt_ Rachel never did feel as good as she wanted it to.

She rolled her eyes and stepped forward into the room.

 

“‘Course you wouldn’t,” she sighed. It wasn’t an apology but Rachel looked slightly mollified. Her hand dropped down from her throat, and Sarah followed the silver nails as they traced their way down between her breasts, coming to rest on the top button of the jacket. She stroked a finger across it as she resumed talking.

 

“The trip would only take a week, and I won’t actually be _in_ meetings all that much. Kira would, of course, be under trusted supervision every _moment_ I’m not with her.” The fingers still on her knee tapped slowly, nails flashing. “I believe it would be very beneficial for her.”

 

Sarah couldn’t look away from the finger toying with the jacket button.

 

“I guess,” she said, with a shrug. “She loved that Heidi book, with all the goats and alps ‘n shite.”

 

Rachel smiled.

 

“So, it’s settled then. Wonderful. Kira will be thrilled that you agreed.”

 

Sarah frowned.

 

“So,” she said slowly, “You told her that this was happenin’ before you talked to me about it?” She threw her hands up, suddenly furious again. “Bloody hell, Rachel!”

 

One of Rachel’s eyebrows arched.

 

“I _told_ her that it was wholly dependant on _your_ permission being granted.” Her voice was completely reasonable and the red lips remained fixed in a smile, but Sarah stepped closer and jabbed a finger at her.

 

“Great. So if I said ‘no’, I get to be the bad guy, again. That’s not bloody fair and you know it!” She was almost shouting now, and Rachel pursed her lips.

 

“But you said ‘yes’, so…” Rachel waved a hand languidly, “We all win, don’t we?” She leaned forward slightly and Sarah’s gaze fell to her cleavage again before she tore her eyes away and rubbed a hand over her face. She hated it when Rachel pulled this shit, knowing full well that Sarah would do anything for her daughter.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” she muttered, her rage deflating.

 

Rachel slid off the table, smoothing down her jacket front and brushing at her trousers. She somehow managed to look up at Sarah through her eyelashes while standing over her in her heels.

 

“You really _do_ seem overly tense today, Sarah,” she murmured, taking a step closer and enveloping Sarah in her scent again. Sarah’s heartbeat quickened as Rachel reached out and grasped her hand, running a thumb over the palm and sending a shiver down Sarah’s spine. She lifted it and placed it on her own cheek, then ran it down her throat, touching herself with Sarah’s unresisting hand. When she let go, Sarah’s hand continued of its own accord, slipping under the jacket to stroke the smooth skin of Rachel’s breast and feel her nipple harden against her palm.

 

She couldn’t figure out who she loathed more at this moment - her ex-wife or herself.

 

The distant noise from the auditorium made her turn her head.

 

“Don’t move,” Rachel ordered, and stepped around her to close the door.

_I should go_ Sarah thought desperately, but her feet refused to move as other parts of her body took over.

 

The lock clicked.

 

Sarah suddenly found herself pushed up against the table and Rachel’s hands sliding up her thighs and Rachel’s lips on her own.

_One more time won’t hurt,_ she told herself, as she pulled her closer, the ache between her legs overriding what common sense she had left, ignoring the buzzing of the phone in her jacket.

 

                                                                                                                                  ⚮     ⚮     ⚮

 

The play had just started when Sarah dropped into the empty seat beside Siobhan in the front row, who glared sideways at her.

"Bout time you showed up," she hissed, 'I've been calling..."

Sarah noticed a flash of white over to her right, and Siobhan leaned forward slightly to watch Rachel taking a seat in the next section, then looked back at Sarah, who was avoiding her sharp gaze. She sat back and shook her head.

"God almighty, Sarah, the two of you are like cats in heat." She sounded more amused now than angry, but Sarah felt her face burning anyway.

"Dunno what yer talkin' about." Sarah crossed her arms and stared up at the stage, hearing Siobhan snort, but when she saw Kira in her tree costume at the back of the stage, a grin spread across her face.

She made everything worth it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the lack of updates but...life, ay? happy holidays (if you're having them)!


	6. Chapter 6

It was late afternoon when Sarah sauntered into Bobbi’s Bar, letting some mellow golden sunlight in through the door with her, grinning when she saw the tall man with smooth dark hair and gold rimmed eyes chatting to the bartender.

 

“Two pints, Bobbi.” Sarah slapped some money down on the bar and dropped onto a seat, leaning sideways to nudge her brother in the ribs.

 

Felix raised his eyebrows.

 

“That’s _awfully_ generous of you,” he noted, perching on the barstool next to her. “Better line them up, Bobbi.”

 

“Wot?” Sarah protested as Bobbi tugged the notes from her fingers, making a show of holding them up to the light and then winking at Felix. The register _chinged,_ two shot glasses of amber liquid slid onto the bar, followed by two pints. “‘s my shout, yeah?”

 

“It’s _always_ your shout,” Felix pointed out, clinking his shot glass against Sarah’s and tipping his head back, pursing his lips at the taste. “It’s just you never have any actual _money._ Oh god. Did you _finally_ accept Rachel’s alimony offer?” He looked her up and down. “We should take you shopping.”

 

She scowled, wiping a hand across her mouth before wrapping her hand around the pint. Two more shots arrived next to the empty ones.

 

“I got a job, you twat.” Bartending, not at Bobbi’s, crappy hours, but still… “You know I’d never take a bloody cent from her.” She stared at the fresh drink. “Not anymore.”

 

“How very _plebian_ of you.” His voice sounded disappointed. “I know I’m, well, _obligated_ to hate your ex, but you have to admit, Sarah,” Felix took a sip of his beer, then raised the second shot. “Rachel has _style._ And she _always_ paid for the drinks.” The empty glass slammed down on the bar and Sarah followed suit, grimacing. “Besides, I thought you were getting along better now, letting her take Kira to Switzerland and all.”

 

“Sod off,’ she said loudly, but now the thought of Rachel was floating around her head, which was always dangerous when she was drinking. Or just when she was conscious. Her legs twitched and she shifted in her seat, pushing her hair back behind her ear.

Felix was studying her, eyes narrowed.

 

“Holy Tilda Swinton, you two are still - “ he started, before Sarah punched him the arm. “Ow! You bitch!” He rubbed the sore spot, and smirked. “You _are_ , aren’t you?”

 

Sarah exhaled loudly, then sculled half her pint before answering.

 

“Not anymore.” Maybe, she thought, if she kept saying it, it’d be true.

 

“Hmmm.” Felix clearly didn’t believe her, and she couldn’t blame him. She barely believed herself.

 

“So, how’s the exhibition thing goin’? Find a space yet?” Her lip curled up at the side. “Still seein’ that guy with the stiffs?”

 

Felix held his hand out in front of him, checking his nails, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 

“Colin? Seeing _quite_ a lot of him, actually. As for the exhibition…” his hand fanned outwards dramatically. “Got offered a place at Birch. I’ll be opening Friday week.” He smiled smugly, obviously quite please with himself. Sarah looked blank.

 

“That’s...good, yeah?” Felix pouted at the doubt in her voice.

 

“ _Yes_ , you barbarian!” his voice loud with indignation. He straightened the cuffs of his coat and sighed. “If you don’t make it to the opening, I’ll _never_ forgive you.” Leaning forward, he raised an eyebrow and said coaxingly, “Open bar…”

 

Sarah leaned back towards him and grinned wolfishly.

 

“Wouldn’t miss it, Fe.” She raised her pint glass to him and the next words came out in a rush. “Proudofya.” Glasses clinked together.

 

                                                              ⚮   ⚮   ⚮

 

The night of the opening found Sarah running late, to no one’s surprise - she’d had to swap a night shift for an afternoon one and got slammed at the last minute. But S had already given Kira her dinner and the babysitter was just walking in the door as Sarah ran up the front path, so all she had to do was hug her daughter, then dash upstairs and shimmy out of her work outfit (black jeans, black t-shirt) and grab something off the pile of laundry that had been waiting to be put away for going on three weeks now.

Clothing in various shades of black flew across the room as she dug through the stack, unearthing a pair of jeans with leather panels down the front that Felix had picked out for her last year. Squirming into them, she was helpless to stop the rest of the pile slowly sliding onto the floor.

 _Fuck_ , she hissed, then stuck her hand into the layers of fabric and pulled on the top her hand had closed on. Red and black stripes. _Didn’t even realise I still had this_. She flipped her hair over, dragging her fingers through and teasing it up a bit, then threw it back and smeared some more eyeliner on. _Felix knows a lot of gorgeous arty types_ , she thought, and she grinned at her reflection. _Might get lucky. At least I know_ she _won’t be there_.

 

By the time she and S made it to the gallery, one of those too-cool-for-obvious-signage warehouses, (luckily S had helped transport Felix’s art pieces, so they didn’t get lost looking for the bloody place), it was buzzing with the sound of Toronto’s art world and various hangers on. Stuffy-looking critics and well-heeled buyers rubbed shoulders with students and starving artists, and a whole host of movers-and-shakers and up-and-comers talked at each over over a subtle but pulsing soundtrack.

The long white-walled space was well lit and the crowds made it hot enough for Sarah to reconsider the leather jacket she had on. S had run into an old friend with a british accent as soon as the two of them had walked in the front doors and down the stairs. He had seemed like a very _good_ old friend from the expression on S’s face, so Sarah smirked over her shoulder at the two of them, and left S to it.

Felix was just one of the exhibitors, but as far as Sarah could tell, his pieces were hung centre stage. If you wanted to get to the bar, you had to walk past them, and since the crowd was very thirsty, you had a lot of time to study the brushstrokes. She was sure she recognised a few of the models he’d used, here and there in the throng - but they were wearing more clothes in real life. She nodded at a few familiar faces, and then spotted Felix holding court before one of his pieces, a small crowd gathered in front of him. All she could see of the canvas behind him was metallic silver paint, and she frowned, trying to place it among the works-in-progress she’d seen in his loft.  

She couldn’t, and for some reason, it made her skin feel tight, and she flapped her leather jacket open a few times, trying to cool down. When she made it to the bar, she held up two fingers, pointed at the bourbon, and when two glasses were placed in front of her, downed one immediately. Nodding her thanks, she picked up the other glass and sidled her way through the hubbub to her brother.

 

“Sorry ‘m late,” she began, as he whispered into the ear of a tall redheaded woman in leather, who glanced at Sarah with frank interest before being tugged away by her shorter friend. Then Sarah caught sight of the entire canvas behind Felix and her mouth dropped open before she turned a death glare on him.

 

“Wot the fuck, Fe?” she hissed, jabbing his arm. “You bloody painted a bloody portrait of bloody _Rachel_?”

 

He rolled his shoulders in a kind of shrug, as shame flitted across his face, followed shortly by defiance.

 

“What? I’d always said I’d wanted to paint her!”

 

“Yeah but...that was before.” Sarah kept glowering at him like a highly localised thunderstorm.

Felix plowed onwards.

 

“Made quite a good subject. It’s actually quite _scary_ how long she can keep still.” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “Unlike _some_ people I could mention.”

 

“I can’t believe you let her into your loft!” Sarah’s voice raised, drawing a few stares from the crowd, and she paused, looking up at the ceiling and trying to push the rage back down into her gut. Felix’s loft had always been her refuge, the first place she ran to, and now it was...

 

“I _didn’t_ ,” Felix insisted, smiling through gritted teeth at the people moving by and pointing at his work. “It was all done at her apartment. I mean, _really,_ do you think she’d actually pick her way through that alleyway, even to be painted by one of the best artistes in town?” He made that face at Sarah, the same face he used to make when they were kids and she was mad at him - big puppy eyes, and then he’d be sticking his fingers up at her the minute her back was turned.

 

“Whatever,” she muttered, and took a big sip of her drink, wanting it to burn.

It did.

“Fuck. It’s really good.” she admitted grudgingly, looking up at the painting. Rachel in profile, the round window behind her creating a kind of halo, with the light fading out to the silver background, hair sharp and metallic gold, satisfied expression looking down at a decapitated swan, red lips matching the blood dripping from her fingers and smeared on the white drapery she wore. “I hate you.”

 

Felix smiled and slipped an arm around her shoulder, the other waving at the piece.

 

“Kind of a reverse Leda and the swan idea,” he said, then sighed at Sarah’s mystified look. “Remind me to get you some greek mythology for dummies, or something. _Anyway,_ Zeus disguised himself as a swan to seduce a young women called Leda - “

 

“Gross,” stated Sarah, taking another swig.

 

“Yeah, he was a perverted old bugger.” Felix agreed. “There’s been, like, a _million_ paintings of it. Thought it was about time Leda got her own back.”

 

“Huh. Rachel kills god?” Sarah felt her mouth curling up. “Sounds like her.”

Suddenly the back of her neck prickled.

 

“I’m flattered,” came the voice from right behind her, and Sarah closed her eyes.

_fuck_

 

She and Felix turned as one to find Rachel, her arm entwined with that of the dark haired woman standing beside her. Very _closely_ and clearly _comfortably_ beside her, Sarah noted with a strange pang somewhere in her ribcage.

 

“Sarah,” she said, her voice low but perfectly audible even over the din. Her eyes met Sarah’s, amused, and looking somehow less green than usual and more like honey. “Hello Felix.” She turned her gaze his way and tilted her head.

 

“Rachel,” Felix intoned, kissing the air beside her cheeks, then looking her up and down. “ _God_ ,” he said, hand held to his chest, “you look _divine_.” He gave the woman beside her the same once over, said “ _Well_ ,” looking back at Rachel with eyebrows raised, “and who might _this_ be?”

 

“Someone you should know,” said Rachel in a proprietary tone, touching silver-tipped fingers to the woman’s forearm.

 

Felix glanced at Sarah warily, as if waiting for her to start throwing punches. She shifted from foot to foot, draining her glass and then gripping it so tightly she thought it would shatter.

_I should have known she’d bloody turn up to rub my face in whatever the fuck this is, bloody Felix should’ve known better, the little shit._

A harried-looking man with tray edged past and Sarah waved her empty glass at him until he relieved her of it, trying to ignore her ex and failing miserably.

She looked _too_ good. Clad in a skin-tight ivory sheath, one strap angled over and around her left collarbone, shoulders bare, arms pale and elegant with a single wide gold bracelet on her right wrist.

A modern goddess, Sarah thought sourly.

The woman beside her was her dark mirror in elegance, black dress shimmering under the angled lights, thin straps crossing golden-brown shoulders, bold white stripes at right angles drawing the eye to the curve of her hips. The heels of her black strappy shoes weren’t as high as Rachel’s, but she still stood over her by a few inches. Her hair was twisted up into a wreath around her head, with little wisps escaping that suggested it would be as wild as Sarah’s once undone, over dark, intensely smokey eyes.

She was, Sarah realized with a sick feeling, like a very upper class version of herself.

For a moment her shoulders slumped inside her leather armor.

 

The other woman was smiling at Felix, but her eyes kept darting to Sarah, bright with curiousity. She moved ever so slightly closer to Rachel and kept smiling. Rachel shifted her gaze to the painting.

 

“It did turn out _very_ well, didn’t it?” She examined it at length, looking as satisfied as her painted counterpart did, then turned and beckoned to a discreet suited figure. Sarah couldn’t stop her eyes sliding down the back of the white dress, and noting the off-centre zipper that went all the way down to the bottom of the skirt. She bit her lip, and felt the dark haired woman still watching her. “Congratulations, Felix.” The man hurried over, nodded as Rachel handed him her card and indicated the painting. A minute later, a red dot was affixed carefully to the title label.

 

Felix looked entirely gratified, and Sarah nudged her boot into his ankle before he could open his mouth and offer her the painting for free. Then she squared her shoulders back, and held a hand out.

 

“I’m Sarah,” she said pointedly to Rachel’s companion.

 

The woman’s fingers were cool and smooth, and her teeth flashed as she ran her thumb over Sarah’s knuckles. Suddenly her palm felt sweaty.

 

“Hanna,” she said, in an accent Sarah couldn’t place. “Rachel has...mentioned you.” Her eyes swept down Sarah with a slightly amused expression tinged with something like...Sarah nearly laughed at the realization.

Something like _jealousy_.

 

“I bet she has,” Sarah answered, sounding more resentful than she’d intended to.

 

Hanna’s face settled on a polite almost-smile, and she dropped Sarah’s hand, shifting a little on her heels so her hip brushed against Rachel’s.

Sarah felt her stomach twist, and shoved her hands in her pockets, shooting a glance at Rachel, smothering the urge to push her up against the nearest wall and wipe that tiny red smirk off her face.

 

“Hanna,” she said, not taking her eyes from Sarah, “I believe we could use a drink. Be a darling, would you.”

 

The smile faded away and a tiny furrow appeared briefly between her impeccable eyebrows. Then she touched Rachel’s bare shoulder, nails shimmering black like miniature night skies, and flashed her teeth again.

 

“Of course,” she answered smoothly. The click of her heels was lost in the noise of the crowd.

 

Sarah watched her go, shaking her head.

 

“Poor bloody woman,” she muttered.

 

“Hardly _poor_ ,” Rachel said drily. “Hanna happens to be one of the most successful modern art dealers in Europe.”

 

Sarah scowled at her, while Felix cleared his throat dramatically.

 

“I think I could use a drink as well,” he announced, “Play nice, you two,” pausing mid-stride to wag a finger. “Not _too_ nice,” and took off after Hanna, flapping a hand at Sarah as she snapped _oi!_ after him.

 

“C’mon, Rach, you know what I mean.” She lifted her chin and leaned closer to Rachel. “Usin’ her to make me jealous?” Her canines slipped out in a smirk. “Or is it the other way round, eh?”

 

Rachel raised an eyebrow a fraction.

 

“Sarah. Really.” She smoothed a hand down the textured fabric that clung to her ribcage. Her silver nails and the gold bracelet gleamed in unison with the portrait in front of them. “The _only_ reason I asked Hanna to escort me here tonight is because she will be an _excellent_ contact for Felix to make.” Her head tilted, gold hair shifting. “ _Do_ try to think about someone other than yourself for once.”

 

Sarah blinked.

 

“I…” she began, _selfish,_ whispered that little voice at the back of her brain, _selfish._ “Piss off,” she said sullenly.

Rachel's eyes gleamed.

 

“How is Kira?” she asked sweetly, clearly relishing Sarah’s discomfort.

 

“Fine. Great.” Sarah shrugged. _Still bangin’ on about the bloody alps, not that I’m gonna tell you that._ She saw Felix moving back through groups of people, nodding and smiling and stopping to chat and her legs itched. He was, she realized, introducing Hanna around, making her laugh, getting _in_. Objectively, she was beautiful and elegant and probably very charming.

Sarah hated her.

And she couldn’t do a thing about it. For Fe’s sake. Why was she even standing here, suffering Rachel’s company anyway? Fuck, she needed another drink.

By the time she dragged her eyes away, it was too late. Rachel was watching her, that satisfied expression back on her face, moving closer as if to examine the textured layers of paint on the canvas that Sarah had her back to, until they were shoulder to shoulder, leather to skin.

 

“And of course, you’re _not_ jealous, are you, Sarah,” she said softly as she looked upwards at herself.

The same magnetic push-pull hummed along Sarah’s skin at the nearness of her. The smell of sandalwood and something floral wafted towards her, and she found herself wondering if Rachel had changed her perfume. She saw the elegant hairdo in the crowd, next to Felix’s swept back quiff and she realised _Hanna_ was the floral, she’d scented Rachel like a _cat_ , and she raked a hand through her own hair, disgusted at herself.

 

“Nope,” she lied, the little humming sound Rachel made in response entering her ear and making a beeline straight down to her -

 

“There you are, Sarah.” The Irish accent made Sarah jump slightly, moving away from Rachel, immediately feeling guilt flush over her face. “You alright, love?” She handed Sarah a glass, her eyes moving between the two of them. Rachel half turned at the sound of her voice.

 

“Yeah. Thanks,” she nodded, gratefully taking a large sip of bourbon. S narrowed her eyes slightly.

 

“Rachel,” she said in a perfectly neutral voice.

 

“Siobhan,” Rachel replied evenly.

 

Sarah cleared her throat.

 

“Rachel brought along an art dealer to meet Fe,” she said, trying to fill the sudden awkward silence. The two of them had actually gotten along quite well at first - S seeing something in Rachel that she quietly respected - until it had all gone bad and then her fiercely protective nature had cooled her attitude. She still trusted Rachel with Kira, however, which spoke volumes.

 

“Oh?” Siobhan cocked an eyebrow. “Well, that’s quite the favor, isn’t it?” She lifted her own glass to her mouth, studying Rachel over the edge.

 

Rachel made a dismissive gesture with a pale hand, letting it come to rest on the elbow opposite. Her collarbone caught the light, and Sarah’s eye as she trailed her fingers down her own arm and rested on the smooth surface of the gold cuff.

 

“The very least I could do, considering…” she tilted her head at the portrait with a small smile.

 

“Ah, yes.” Siobhan looked up at the painting. “Going to hang it in your office, are you?” She chuckled throatily. “Ought to put the wind up a few of those upstart underlings of yours.”

 

Rachel smiled wider.

 

“Mmm,” she said, her attention moving to Hanna in the distance, who was holding up glass of red wine in Rachel’s direction, and sipping white from her own.

 

“Always lovely to see you, Siobhan.”  As she began to move, hips sinuous in the clinging white, brushing past close enough for her nails to lightly scratch at the back of Sarah’s hand, she murmured “Sarah,” in a low and subtly triumphant tone.

And then she was gone, the crowd of people somehow parting before her, Hanna smiling and handing her the wine, leaning over to whisper in her ear, laying slender fingers on the back of her shoulder.

 

The skin on the back of Sarah’s hand burned and the pit in her stomach opened up again.

Siobhan was talking but she couldn’t hear a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [vaguely inspired by this drabble by natalie sharkodactyl!](http://sharkodactyl.tumblr.com/post/170517779194)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Rachel's dress](https://www.net-a-porter.com/au/en/product/431632)
> 
>  
> 
> [Hanna's dress](http://shop.davidjones.com.au/djs/ProductDisplay?urlRequestType=Base&catalogId=10051&categoryId=27051&productId=13196030&errorViewName=ProductDisplayErrorView&urlLangId=-1&langId=-1&top_category=26551&parent_category_rn=&storeId=10051)

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've used this song recently for other propunk but...shut up that's why
> 
> Here we go again, around and round  
> Here we go again, around and round  
> We're babies passing for adults  
> Who voted up the catapults  
> And can't believe the end results  
> So here we go again
> 
> Here we go again, it's obvious  
> Here we go again, the two of us  
> We've just become our worst mistakes  
> The rattles off two rattlesnakes  
> The antidote that no one takes  
> So here we go again
> 
> But let's call a spade a spade  
> I’m going nowhere  
> I’m stuck in this hole, afraid to make a move  
> So once more around the track, another lap  
> And I think I can get it back, to where we prove:
> 
> There's a simple fix for our mess  
> It's a simple fix for our mess
> 
> Here we go again, back to the well  
> Here we go although we both can tell  
> We're just campaigning for the win  
> No prizes of adrenaline  
> We acted out, so it stays in  
> So here we go again  
> -simple fix by aimee mann


End file.
